Haphephobia
by Silver Pard
Summary: Nothing is real any more.


**Haphephobia**

He doesn't like to be touched.

Charlie has always translated 'touch' as comfort and warmth. He has fond memories of being held and hugged and cherished, and had always imagined that everybody found it that way. Didn't it go all the way back to infancy after all?

But Mr. Wonka doesn't like it. He flinches and backs away, and his voice goes an octave higher, his gestures more wild and distressed, and it frightened Charlie so when he was younger, that he quickly stopped trying.

Charlie accepts this now, as easily, as readily as he accepts the truth that he will never leave the factory. The one truth is simply harder to bear than the other.

It didn't _matter_ back then, because his family was more than willing to hug him and tell him how much they loved him, and the world was safe and real in their arms. The sweet, beguiling magic and candy-coated cruelty of Mr. Wonka's reality, his wonderful factory, seemed far away and was a source of wonder and delight.

But one by one, Charlie's family left him, and now he finds himself cold without the comfort they provided, because now there is only Charlie and the Candyman. There's only distance, and empty space between them, because Mr. Wonka has no real human warmth to give, and no human understanding to appreciate it, while Charlie no longer has any idea how much he needs it.

Charlie finds himself shivering, trapped in Mr. Wonka's wonderland. It's beautiful and he loves it so, as much, maybe more, than he always did, but he's cold, so cold, and he's never going to be warm again.

He doesn't want much. Mr. Wonka has, after all, given him a home and a vocation, and an empire Charlie is afraid to take over and it isn't fair to ask for more … but a hug would be nice. A hand on his shoulder. Anything that would let Charlie know that he wasn't dreaming, sleep-walking. It's not like he's asking for a _kiss_ –

_Ew_, shudders the voice in Charlie's head, the voice that used to sound like Charlie but now sounds just like Mr. Wonka.

Yes, yes, _eww_, agrees Charlie, who is left bewildered and perplexed by the concept of kissing and avoids the idea whenever possible. Kissing is _gross_, to use the Wonka-voice's words. But is a touch on the shoulder too much to ask? Just to let Charlie know he was really there? All Charlie asks for is for anything to reassure himself that the rest of the world – and him – really existed, because he's not sure anymore, about anything. Too much time in longhallways and impossible realities will do that to you.

The Factory is as wonderful, as bright and colourful and magical as always, and the air is warm, and the Oompa Loompas still laugh and sing, but Charlie is cold, cold, cold.

He's a little scared of what's outside the factory gates now, probably as frightened as he'd be if he'd been born in the factory and had never seen the outside world. Charlie has found he doesn't want to leave, despite everything about the factory that has, as an adult (well, the only person here who actually seems to be growing up mentally, which doesn't count for much) begun to unsettle him.

He's so afraid of the world he was born in he can't help giggling sometimes.

He knows this world of Mr. Wonka's creation (well, not all of it, but then, Mr. Wonka once said he was always turning up in rooms he couldn't seem to remember ever being in before, so that's okay) and here he is safe. Out There, Charlie doesn't know what he is. He doesn't have the faintest idea of what's Outside anymore, and he feels secure here, where the smell of chocolate is strong and sweet and can almost provide the comfort he needs. Even if both the owners are totally nuts. The little voice in the back of Charlie's head, the one that sounds like Mr. Wonka, giggles. But it's okay, because Charlie never goes out, and Mr. Wonka never goes out, so nobody need know just how badly Charlie's cracked.

He feels just a little lonely here, as traitorous as that feels, but he's not even sure if he even knows how to speak English any more, were he ever to enter the Outside. He can't remember the last time he spoke to anyone besides the Oompa Loompas and Mr. Wonka (and talking to Mr. Wonka doesn't count, because it's not like talking English anyway), so he's never sure if he's speaking English or Oompa Loompish or some other odd language he's picked up from Mr. Wonka. Squirrel, maybe. In fact, he's pretty sure that walking Out There, he'd probably end up talking in any language other than the one he grew up speaking.

Mr. Wonka doesn't get lonely. He has the Oompa Loompas for (distant) company and conversation. And the squirrels. He loves to engage in long philosophical debates with the squirrels.

Charlie is cold, so cold.

Mr. Wonka giggles and his hands flutter excitedly as he dances around Charlie, dances verbally round every word Charlie says, dances (skips, even) all round the factory. Of the two of them, Charlie feels ancient and tired, and Wonka doesn't bother himself with such thoughts. Charlie feels pale and faded, floating through the halls, and it seems to him sometimes that the weaker and more exhausted he gets, the stronger and more vibrant and colourful Mr. Wonka becomes.

He doesn't begrudge Mr. Wonka this. He loves him after all. Mr. Wonka is his best friend, is all he has left, and what does it matter, just what he has to take from Charlie, or just what Charlie has to lose, to keep the magic going?

Charlie shivers and Mr. Wonka grins and bounces excitedly from one project to the next.

It used to make sense. The factory, the candy. Everything. It had a child's logic, and when Charlie was a child it all made sense.

But slowly, so slowly, it stopped making sense. Slowly, Charlie came to realise that the world Outside followed different rules to the world inside the factory gates. Well, he always knew that, but when he was younger, it didn't matter.

He's not younger anymore. Charlie is lost now, a little afraid and so very cold, but he can't leave, because Mr. Wonka's here, and he needs Charlie, trusts Charlie, and anyway, Charlie's more afraid of what is Outside than what is within. Mr. Wonka does need Charlie. He does trust Charlie. He does, or the reasons that Charlie has stayed for, that have kept him here for so long are just… meaningless. Charlie needs his reasons to stay here.

Charlie is very careful about not revealing how hopelessly confused and broken he is. He can't displease Mr. Wonka, because even if he can't give Charlie the solidity, the _reality_ Charlie needs to cling to, he's all Charlie has left.

Nobody goes in, nobody goes out.

Charlie is still cold, and Mr. Wonka still doesn't like to be touched, but it's okay, it's all okay; so long as he's here, he's safe. So long as he never goes out, he need never know that he wants so much to be held again and cherished and reassured that the world Out There is real. The way it used to be before the magic of Mr. Wonka's factory took over Charlie's life and drew him in.

There's the world Outside, and the world Inside, and Charlie needs to persuade himself that the Outside doesn't exist anymore.

Charlie's cold and afraid of the world and he doesn't like to be touched. He still wonders why Mr. Wonka doesn't seem quite real anymore, but it's okay, because Charlie doesn't feel quite real anymore either.

The world used to be real. It used to make sense. Charlie used to like being held. He used to be _Charlie_.

Nothing is real anymore. Outside, Inside, it doesn't matter. Mr. Wonka matters, and the factory matters.

And that's about it.

* * *

A/N: ...weird. I can't get it to make sense or go in any order. And I wanted to write something funny. I suppose I've used up my diminutive well of humour. 

...I'll regret this. I know I will.


End file.
